It has been suggested that I post some of my own poems. So I will once in a while and here's one.
It’s not the dress
What do poets wear?
Dresses spun of spider webs?
(just get arrested for indecent exposure)
Skirts of woven cowslips?
(bit of an Ophelia complex, maybe?)
Jackets made of full-moon beams?
(shine on girl, until the fashion police arrive)
Boots of Spanish leather?
(gift of an old lover now in the Hebrides)
It’s not the dress; it’s the
Eyes that see more than is there
Ears that hear the beat of life
Feet that dance the rhythm of the earth
And a very open heart.
It’s not the dress that plays the part--
Clothes don’t make the poet
What do poets wear?
Dresses spun of spider webs?
(just get arrested for indecent exposure)
Skirts of woven cowslips?
(bit of an Ophelia complex, maybe?)
Jackets made of full-moon beams?
(shine on girl, until the fashion police arrive)
Boots of Spanish leather?
(gift of an old lover now in the Hebrides)
It’s not the dress; it’s the
Eyes that see more than is there
Ears that hear the beat of life
Feet that dance the rhythm of the earth
And a very open heart.
It’s not the dress that plays the part--
Clothes don’t make the poet
